of
Muscatine County Iowa
1911
| History of Muscatine County Iowa 1911 | |
Source: History of Muscatine County Iowa, Volume I, 1911, pages 79-81
GREAT RIVER STORIES. "Old Times on the Upper Mississippi River"--the recollections of a steam-boat pilot from 1854 to 1863, was written by Captain George Byron Merrick and published in 1909. Of his earlier experience on the Mississippi river he has the following, in part, to say:
"The majesty and glory of the great river have departed; its glamour remains, fresh, and undying in the memories of those who, with mind's eye, still can see it as it was a half century ago. Its majesty was apparent in the mighty flood which then flowed throughout the season, scarcely diminished by the summer heat; its glory in the great commerce which floated upon its bosom, beginnings of great commonwealth yet to be; its glamour in that indefinable witchery with which memory clothes the commonplace of long ago, transfiguring the labors, cares, responsibilities and dangers of steamboat life as it really was into a midsummer night's dream of care free, exhilarating experiences and glorified achievements. There were steamers running between St. Louis and Fort Snelling, near St. Paul, from the year 1823 in more or less regularity. The Virginia, Captain Crawford, was the first steamboat to reach Fort Snelling, which occurred May 10, 1822. The crowning achievement of Captain William Fisher, of Galena, was the taking of the City of Quincy from St. Louis to St. Paul, Captain Brock being his partner for the trip. The City of Quincy was a New Orleans packet that had been chartered to take an excursion the length of the river. The vessel was of 1,600 tons burden, with length of 350 feet beam and was the largest boat ever making the trip above Keokuk's rapids. Two or three incidents of Captain Fisher's river life, among the many which he related to me, are of interest as showing the dangers of the Mississippi. The following is one which he believed was an omen prophetic of the war of the rebellion. I give it as told to me:
" 'I am going to tell you this just as it happened. I don't know whether you will believe me or not. I don't say that I would believe it myself if I had not seen it with my own eyes. If some one else had told it to me I might have set it down as a "yarn." If they never have had any experience on the river some men would make yarns to order. It is a mighty sight easier to make them than it is to live them--and safer.
" 'When this thing happened to me I was entirely sober and I was not asleep. If you will take my word for it I have never been anything else but sober. If I had been otherwise I would not be here now telling you this at eighty-two years old (the relator told the story in 1903). Whiskey always gets 'em before they see the eighty mark. And you know that a man can't run a steamboat while asleep--that is, very long. Of course he can for a little while but when he hits the bank it wakes him up.
" 'This story ought to interest you because I was on your favorite boat when it happened. The Fannie Harris was sold in 1859, in May or June, to go south. She came back right away, not going below St. Louis, after all. I took her down to that port. Joseph Jones, of Galena, had bought the bar for the season when she was sold, and lost thirty dollars in money by the disposal of the boat. Captain W. H. Gabbert, who died a few months since, was in command and I was pilot. I left Galena in the evening. It was between changes of the moon and a beautiful starlight night--as fine as I ever saw. By the time we got down to Bellevue the stars had all disappeared and it had become daylight, not twilight, but broad daylight, so light that you could not see the brightest star, and from 11:30 to 12:30, a full hour, it was as bright as any day when the sun was under a cloud. At midnight I was right opposite Savanna. Up to this time Captain Gabbert had been asleep in the cabin, although he was on watch. We were carrying neither passengers nor freight for we were just taking the boat down to deliver her to her new owners. The captain woke up, or was called, and when he saw the broad daylight and that his watch indicated that it was only midnight, he was surprised and maybe scared, just as everyone else was. He ran out on the roof and called out, "Mr. Fisher, land the boat, the world is coming to an end." I told him that if the world were coming to an end that he might as well go in the middle of the river as at the bank, and kept on going. It took just as long to get dark again as it did to get light--about an hour. Then in another half hour the stars had come out, one by one, just as you see them at sunset--the big bright ones first and then the whole field of little ones. I looked for all the stars I knew by sight and as they came back, one by one, I began to feel more confidence in the reality of things. I couldn't tell at all where the light came from--but it grew absolutely broad daylight. That one hour's experience had more to do with turning my hair white than anything that ever occurred to me, for it certainly did seem a strange phenomenon. "Was it worse than going into a battle?" I asked. Yes, a hundred times worse, because it was different. When you go into battle you know just what danger is and you nerve yourself to meet it. It is just the same as bracing yourself to meet a known danger in your work--wind, lightning or storm--you know what to expect and if you have any nerve you just hold yourself in and let it come. This was different; you didn't know what was coming next, but I guess we all thought just as the captain did, that it was the end of the world. I confess that I was scared, but I had the boat to look out for and until the world really did come to an end I was responsible for her, and so stood by and you know that helps to keep your nerves where they belong. I just hung on to the wheel and kept her in the river but held one eye on the western sky to see what was coming next. I hope when my time comes I shall not be scared to death and I don't believe I shall be. It will come in a natural way and there won't be anything to scare a man. It is the unknown and mysterious that shakes him and this midnight marvel was too much for any of us. We had a great many signs before the war and I believe this marvel was one of them, only we didn't know how to read it.' "
Captain Merrick graphically describes a race between the Itasca and the Gray Eagle, which took place in 1856 on the Mississippi from Dunleith to St. Paul. He says: "As a race against time, the run of the Gray Eagle was something really remarkable. A sustained speed of over sixteen miles an hour for a distance of three hundred miles up stream is a wonderful record for an inland steamboat, anywhere, upper river or lower river, and the pride which Captain Harris had in his boat was fully justified. A few years later she struck the Rock Island bridge and sank in less than five minutes, a total loss. It was pitiful to see the old captain leaving the wreck, a broken-hearted man, weeping over the loss of his darling and returning to his Galena home, never again to command a steamboat. He had during his eventful life on the upper river built and owned or commanded scores of steamboats and this was the end." Captain D. Smith Harris in 1855 brought out the Gray Eagle which had been built at Cincinnati at a cost of $60,000. He built her with his own money or at least had a controlling interest and intended her to be the fastest boat on the river.
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